


Walk all over you

by oncewewerezombies



Series: Homesmut fills [3]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Bulges and Nooks, Caliginous Romance | Kismesis, F/M, Pantyhose, Sex Toys, Stockings, Xeno
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-11
Updated: 2015-10-11
Packaged: 2018-04-25 21:12:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4976716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oncewewerezombies/pseuds/oncewewerezombies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Porrim in stockings, tights, pantyhose, whatever. Luscious Maryam thighs in silk or nylon please. With someone or solo, voyeuristic tendencies encouraged. Porrim being the dominating one is doubleplusgood. Intercrural, footjobs, mutual frotting preferred over penetration.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Walk all over you

“Cronus, you seem to have misunderstood the purpose of this exercise.” Putting the spiked heel of her shoe against the thin edged of the seat of his chair, Porrim smiled to show her long fangs in a smile that made her kismesis sink down lower and his hands obviously desire to twitch from the arms to drop down to cover his crotch in self-protection. Good. She always wanted him on edge, he wanted this, and he would have to work for it. He had had so many things handed to him, so much arrogance. So much self-based ego that was so completely undeserved. Ugh. She just _loathed_ him. “You are to stay still, and not touch yourself. Do you think you can manage that much self control, or should I get some rope to make sure your hands _stay right where they are?_ ”

“Don’t worry about it, doll, I’m sure I’m up to the task.” Ugh, _disgusting_ , he just had to run his tongue over his lower lip as though that was meant to arouse her. All sulky and expectant simultaneously, as though she owed him anything. It was an act of will to keep her eyes on his face, instead of glancing down to see if he was soaking the seat of those tight jeans of his with violent fluids from his nook. If his bulge was twisting behind the zipper, an obscene wriggling movement. For all he acted, all his defiance and supposed high blood superiority, she’d never seen anyone as needy as he was for some form of, of, _attention_. 

“You had better be.” He was so vile. How could she hate anyone as much as him? It was worse, because he had so much potential. He could be commanding, arresting. He could be charismatic. He could be an ally, a supporter, someone who worked to actually do the things he sometimes paid lip service to. Instead, he was this disgusting bulge-centric, demeaning, superior, arrogant, needy sack of shit. Just such a waste. She hated waste; it wasn’t something she had been allowed to have room for, when she was alive. She lifted her foot a little, and planted her heel squarely against his emerging bulge. “Or you won’t be feeling any pleasure tonight, and that will only be my prerogative.”

He groaned, and almost doubled over, but his hands stayed on the arm rests. It was almost too tempting to screw her heel in, skewer him, but she refrained. One of them had some self control here, and it was her.

“ _Good._ ”

Night and day meant nothing in the bubbles, and she doubted any of them had grown or could in the end, but she hated the thought of not trying to grow even worse. There was always something new to learn. Sometimes even the human dream bubbles had something useful in them. Like this, pantyhose. Strong yet strangely fragile tubes for her legs, sheer and glistening. Pantyhose. What an odd word. Her grey skin was hidden by black, almost drone-like in its total coverage, the way it covered her in adult darkness, it was bizarrely liberating and made her feel powerful. Not that it would take much to keep Cronus in his place; he was resoundingly open to suggestion if he thought it might lead to him getting his bulge wet. 

He was just so weak.

Sitting back on her own chair, facing him, she kicked off the spiked heel shoes slowly, baring her feet. His eyes were hungry, focused, like some great sea creature waiting for prey. Fins flared, spines straight and flushed violet at the tine-edges as they jutted past the rim of the thin and vulnerable flesh. Just how she wanted him, and she could see the first hint of violet at the seam of his jeans even though they’d barely begun. It was disgusting to see how he could have been a predator, and he gave it up for whining that life wasn’t fair. Propping one foot on his chair, she wriggled her toes luxuriously but made sure that her foot was grubleglengths away from his crotch. “Don’t move,” she breathed out in a low warning hiss, as she saw his thighs tighten. It was a pity such a nice body was attached to such a loathsome mind, so utterly lacking in any trollish virtue. “Remember, Cronus. You’re not to move.”

“You said I couldn’t move my hands, kitten, come on, I just, I wanna,” he said, his voice whining in her ears but his body was obedient at least. His thighs might have tensed, but they hadn’t moved any further. She supposed he deserved some sort of reward for that. “Oh, c’mon, Porrim, _babe_...”

“You’re disgusting.” Her dress fell away over one leg, the slit allowing ease of movement, and now, ease of access. She ran her fingers over the centre seam of the pantyhose, feeling how it dug in against the soft edges of her nook while Cronus’ fingers dug into the arms of the chair he was sitting in. Unlike him, she could take all the time she wanted. She had all the time in the universe to drag this out. “I should just go.”

“Yeah, but you’re not gonna. You wanna see how your ice queen act can affect me,” he snarled at her, and then laughed. A low dirty chuckle that made her fingers falter for a moment in their slow wandering, the gentle encouragement on the slit of her nook and bonebulge-sheath. “C’mon. Maryam. _I wanna see you spill._ Let’s see who gets there first, _huh_?”

She kicked out, and the ball of her foot landed square against the wriggling bump of his bulge and he choked, bent over. But his hands didn’t move, his claws digging strips out of the soft cloth covering the arms. Despite her immature provocation, he was keeping to the rules of the game they were playing. Damn him, he was winning. How dare he?

“Hnngh! Oh, yeah, _babe_ , you know just how to get at me,” he groaned, and she snarled, face twisting up in something unlovely and feral at the pulse of pitch that brightened inside her at his gloating voice. Jade-covered lips drew back, tight, exposing the long canines her transition to something not quite alive had gifted her with. And he laughed at her. Bastard. “Oh man, oh _man_ , Porrim, baaaaabe....”

“You’re just vile, you know that, I loathe you,” the rainbow drinker murmured, and pressed her foot closer. Her foot was so dark against the blue of his jeans, the beginning violet tinge that his leaking nook was leaving against his pants. So needy, so desperate. She knew her fascination with him was sick, but she just couldn’t help herself.

“Oh, I wouldn’t have it any other way, Porrim, you’re so fucking gorgeous when you’re pissed off at me,” he gasped. She pressed harder in retaliation, and he almost hunched to bring his knees up a little while his thighs strained to spread wider, letting out a low warbling cry from deep inside his chest that might have been meant to carry fathoms in the depths of the sea. A noise that shook her in her bones. “Oh my _fuck!_ ”

 

“You’re so needy. It’s disgusting,” she voiced her roiling thoughts and withdrew her foot, leaving him to pant helplessly for a return of some sort of pressure. The small stain had become much larger now. Those jeans would be a lost cause. He’d never get the reminder of his humiliation out. Not that it was really a worry for him now, or before. Now, he would just dream up a new pair of pants – before, he could have just bought new ones. Violet bloods were so unthinking, so privileged and they didn’t even realise it, and he was the worst example of them all. “Now, watch.”

She’d laid some things to hand underneath a cloth on the small end-table next to her chair. The bumps and ripples of the cloth had made his eyes heat up when she’d opened the door to her relaxation block, but she hadn’t wanted to show him then. She’d made him wait. And she still didn’t think he’d know what they were; human sex toys were quite different from nookworms and the other biological constructs that trolls had made to help self-pailing. Picking up the first, a small conical rubber shape, she pressed the base to make it vibrate and ran it along the seam of the pantyhose, while she stared him in the eyes. Blank white eyes as expressionless as they had been since she’d died. Since they’d both died, since his eyes were the same.

“Oh, fuck, Porrim, what the fuck,” he stammered, and she smirked. It seemed that this was new to him as well despite his ceaseless pursuit of all things human. No, she didn’t believe in his adoption of otherkin belief, not at all. She was sure that not even Kankri did, not at the root of it. She had to admit that the jeans did great things for his glutes, but that was far as she would go.

“You like it?” she murmured, and felt her bulge start to slip out of its sheath. Her own fluids dampened the slick material of the hose, but it didn’t darken to jade. No, that sort of humiliating stain was left for her kismesis and no one else. Underneath the black tights, her thighs were slick were jade, with bioliquids, with genematerial, with slurry, whatever you wanted to call it, but all that showed on the surface was a little deepening of shade. Yes, she really liked these human leg coverings. “The humans have a lot of little toys. They don’t use grubs or bioengineered constructs of any kind, it seems.”

His eyes seemed to fix on how her bulge moved behind the dark veil of the nylon, striving to wrap around the blunt point of the pink pyramid that she held there with no success. The toy vibrated against her fingers, the slit of her nook, felt herself flood a little more. Pursing her lips, she turned it off with a slim finger and put it to one side. The look of devastation on his face was worth cherishing in a dark black space inside her soul. 

She hooked one leg over the arm of her own chair, opening herself up to his devouring gaze as she reached for another toy. Felt the seams of her dress stress, almost pop their stitches. She’d sewn it to fit her body like a second skin, tight, black with the jade of her sign swirled on it in a defiant shout. This one was like a human bulge, a ‘dick’ she believed was the nomenclature. Like a stick in her hands as she traced along her thighs, the darkening blackness at the crotch, a wand. His eyes were even wider, hungrier. Oh yes, this was the right thing to pick up. Secretly, she congratulated herself on being able to read her spade so well.

“How about this?”

“Porrim, Porrim, you’re killing me here,” he moaned, and the voice he was giving out was like a caress down her spine. It was almost red, but she couldn’t have borne to thought of him in that way. There was nothing to pity in him, and much to hate.

“Good. Is this what you wish you had between your legs?” she murmured, while his eyes watched as though they could burn a hole through the slick material covering her thighs. The thing in her hands was this stupid pink colour, sort of a peach, and nothing like a bulge at all. Disgusting; like her kismesis. “Not a nook or a bulge, like any _normal_ troll. This...stiff...thing?” She circled her nook with the tip of it, and thought he was going to orgasm right there in his seat at the way his claws ripped into the arms of his chair, the way his fangs ground against each other.

“You bitch...whore...you fucking cunt, how could you...nnngh...”

“Cunt? Where did you pick that up? Sniffing after mammals now, my dear mister Ampora?” She smiled, and knew that he was about to lose it and she was still coasting on hot ripples of arousal. She could cum, but she’d have to work at it. He was so close, she could smell it. “I’d hate to think you wouldn’t want what’s between my thighs, Cronus. Not after we’ve codified what we are to each other.”

Black hate. Pitch as spades. The pheromones here were thick enough to choke on. 

She should get a bucket.

She wasn’t going to get a bucket for either of them.

“You _bitch..._...”

“This is what you want, isn’t it?” Arching her hips, she dug into her nook a little with the alien toy. Felt the head push the suddenly scratchy, grainy fabric past the tight rim of the entrance to her nook. It hurt. It ached. It wasn’t anything close to fulfilling, and she wanted more.

“You – you – Porrim, I swear to fucking god, if you don’t let me up right now, I swear –“

“You swear?” The thing dug into her and she moaned suddenly, eyes closing in response. Felt herself clench around it, tighten, while her bulge tried to break free of the confines of the nylon. Thrashing against her thighs, her stomach. Searching in vain for another bulge to twine around, a nook to slide inside.

“You BITCH!”

She opened her eyes and watched almost dispassionately as he disgraced himself. His hips thrusting up, the spill of slurry staining the material of his pants down to his knees, the seat of the chair. But he kept his hands on the arms of the chair as he’d been told at the beginning of their interlude, even as he subsided back against the furniture, panting and almost sobbing for breath. If she had anything for her inside him except the blackest of hate, she could have pitied the sight he made but she didn’t. He’d burned it out of her.

“You lose,” she murmured, and threw the human toy away with disdain. It was never going to get her off; useless thing, why did he want one of them. For a troll, it would never move in the right way, never really work. Getting up from her seat, she straddled him with her rumblespheres in his face. They were almost falling out of her dress with the angle she was at, rubbing against the firm jut of his chin as he gasped for air, eyes lost and face soft with pleasure. Revolting. Her fingers jammed home between her legs as she rode him, looking down at him. Her lip curled, lifted in a snarl, and she felt her own slurry flood the stockings like a crescendo. She’d been closer than she’d thought – or it was just the sight of him so lost in pleasure and the fact that she had _won_. Letting out her own triumphant rising trill, she rode her fingers to orgasm and beyond, slumping down into his arms that he finally lifted to catch her in her moment of weakness.

“Babe, you’re wet,” he murmured into her ear and she stiffened, pushed herself off him. Her claws dug into his shoulders, and she had the pleasure of seeing him wince. What a soft thing he was. So soft, so contemptible. 

“Get yourself out of my hive. We’re done.”

“Just for now, right? I want to see you in those things again....what’d you call ‘em?”

She swung her leg off him, stood up and found some strength inside herself to stand steady. Not quiver. Oh, her nook felt so hungry, even as her bulge was retreating as it should inside her sheath. If he didn’t get out... “Out.”

“I’m going, doll, sweetheart, I’m going...” Somehow, he managed to act as though his pants weren’t stained with his own slurry to the knees, heaved his muscular body out of the chair, pulled his jacket on with an arrogant snap of the black beefbeasthide. Porrim could feel the hate in her starting to burn again, like a physical pain deep in her gut. What was wrong with him? He was broken. But he could be fixed, if he’d only grasp some of what was in him already. It was so...aggravating.

And then she realised something.

His jeans were dotted with jade, as much as they were stained with violet. Her back stiffened, eyes widening as he popped the collar of the jacket, half-turned to face her to show her just what she’d done when she’d spilled her colour while kneeling above him. To flaunt her colour on his clothes, that wastechute! As if he deserved to!

“Cronus!”

“Later, babe!”

And he was out of there, like he hadn’t had a knee trembling orgasm just moments before. He’d waited just long enough for her to realise that he carried her colour just as much as his own, and then... _he’d left_. Her fingers flexed, claws extending in wrath as his booted feet hurried down her stairs in a galumphing gallop. Oh. She was going to make him pay for this.

She’d make him pay _dearly_.

Hissing to herself, she walked to her ablution block on unsteady feet. Trying to think of ways to make him regret what he’d done just now. And everything he’d ever thought or ever said. She’d find a way. It was why they hated each other so much, and why it felt so good.


End file.
